


pretty in pink

by sourcherryboy



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: F/F, LETS GO LESBIANS, Lesbian Agatha, Punk AU, SnowBaz, agatha appreciation, agatha likes the cure, helen the maid appreciation, i lied almost 0 snowbaz, i see ur cannon.. and raise u this, john hughes?? god, punk agatha, punk baz, the next person to saybaz and agatha are in love will be beheaded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-27 05:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16212692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourcherryboy/pseuds/sourcherryboy
Summary: ♡ the one where agatha wellbelove goes punk ♡





	1. JUST LIKE HEAVEN

**Author's Note:**

> hi yes hello
> 
> this fic has been in the works for a good bit. i've been desperate for lesbian carry on content, so my cursed brain decided to create some. updates will be infrequent unfortunately, i'm a bit of a mess. 
> 
> huge thanks to @heldthemoonsglow for being my lovely lovely beta. she truly made this fic possible, make sure to go check her out on tumblr.
> 
> major credit goes to the rad @basicbathsheba for being my inspiration for this fic. go read the iconic rebel rebel, and all of her fantastic other works. 
> 
> don't be a stranger, i'm always a slut for constructive criticism. if you have any notes, thoughts, suggestions, please comment or feel free to hit me up on tumblr.
> 
> enjoy!

"Alright babe. You set?" Helen says, putting the car in park near the end of the long drive that leads to the gates of Watford. She flicks off the car stereo, ( _The Ramones_ , Helen's raving mad about them. In fact, when I was eight, she sang me to sleep every night with _She's A Sensation_. An odd choice, but very Helen-like.) And leans back in her seat, flashing me a toothy grin. I lean over and snatch my sunglasses from where they sit, perched high on her brown corkscrew hair. I'm quite fond of this pair- teashade with rose tinted lenses.

 

"Always."

 

"6th year of Watford huh? I bet you're positively bursting with excitement."

 

My chest tightens, seething with anxiety at the mere mention of Watford, which is overly ridiculous considering we're literally here. I sigh. Watford is truly a magical place, both literally and metaphorically, if you're one for magic. I however, don't enjoy the catches that come along with the magic of it all. For example, Simon Snow’s talent for finding several new ways to surprise me each and every year (Usually involving some sort of heroic battle.) (And obscene amounts of blood.). 

 

"Shitloads.” I say, rolling my eyes. She chuckles.

 

As a low power witch herself, she's made it clear that she understands my distaste for magic. She holds a bit of a grudge against Watford, considering she wasn't allowed to attend when she was younger due to headmaster Pitch's rules. Instead she was sent to a private school, only being taught a few basic spells by her parents when she came of age.

 

"I'm gonna miss those eyerolls of yours. Now who's going to scoff at David Tennant with me?" I snort. As much as I hated it at first, I begrudgingly started watching Doctor Who with Helen years ago. We both share a strong adoration for Matt Smith. Helen seems particularly fond of raving about how criminally underrated he is compared to Tennet. To be perfectly honest, I can't blame her. Simon watches with us too sometimes, but only around the holidays. It can take hours to catch him up on the plot, which he and I both hate. But he always ends up enjoying it, so I suppose I don't mind. I suspect he just likes the tradition of it.

 

“Look on the bright side; at least you won't be forced to watch sixteen candles every weekend.” She rolls her head back and groans.

 

“Listen kid, I love you and all, but if I have to hear about Molly Ringwald’s panties one more time, I’m going to go batshit crazy.” She says, as cynical as she can manage. Unfortunately for Helen, it isn't quite cynical by anyone's standards. Except maybe her own.

 

“I'll have you know that hearing about Molly Ringwald’s undergarments is an honor and a fucking privilege Helena.” I quip, knowing full well she hates any and all use of her full name. She waves me off absentmindedly, and I laugh. “

 

That's quite a mouth Wellbelove. Where'd you acquire such a colorful vocabulary?” I raise my eyebrows. She knows where.

 

"Alright, alright, guilty.” Helen mutters, shaking her head.

 

My mother caught me swearing once, and threatened to wash my mouth out with soap if she heard me do it again. Unfortunately for her, it only fueled my desire to curse. The next night at dinner, when I asked her to pass the “fucking mutton chops” she just sighed, and shook her head. Later Helen clapped me on the back and told me I was braver than any soldier. It wasn't an exaggeration.

 

Need any help with your bags?" Helen asks, but I shake my head. The last time she came up to my room, she demanded that she see the mage to assign me a new roommate. The reality of me being on my own hit her unpleasantly, and it took forever to convince her that I'm content with living alone. I used to have a roommate actually, Phillipa, but she left Watford awhile back due to some sort of traumatic illness. I've never minded, she was a bit of a miserable bitch really.

 

"I'll miss you Aggie. Tell Simon I said hello."

 

“Yeah, yeah.” I say, and lean over to kiss her cheek.

 

I've known Helen ever since I was a child, seeing as she's technically my nanny and all, although I don't think I've ever thought of her as that. I suppose she's my closest friend because, although she hasn't much competition of course (Being Simon Snow’s girlfriend doesn't exactly do any wonders for my social life.), she's always there. Knowing she'll be there for me when I get to leave Watford again is like remembering an old favorite song of yours. You can't wait to familiarize yourself with it again, to play it over and over like you've done so many times before.

 

Although my parents are there, they never quite seem to be, which I assume is the reason we don't seem to talk much. It's always been Helen, showing up to countless recitals and horse competitions, making those excellent lemon bars of her’s when I'm sad. In fact, she was the one to walk me through “the intricacies of womanhood” as she had put it, while simultaneously showing me how to use a tampon, not to mention the killer eyeliner technique she'd shown me a few years back. I was going through somewhat of an awkward raccoon phase, and she made fun of me, telling me to stop listening to so much _Greenday_. I hadn't gotten it then, (I didn't until a year later, during my shoplifting phase, when I snagged an _American Idiot_ CD. I had been horribly embarrassed, seeing the picture of Billie Joe Armstrong on the inside sleeve. Too embarrassed to listen to any of the music, at least before I was busted by my parents, and my newly ‘acquired' things were confiscated.) But that was Helen for you. Even if you didn't understand what she was saying half the time, you wouldn't mind. She's consistent and familiar, something I've grown to appreciate among the crazy situations I've been thrown into.

 

It's just when I've gotten my things, and begun to make my way up the walk when she calls after me, just as she always done.

 

“Wait!” She yells, and I turn around, already smiling. After an entire 5 years of routine, I know exactly what she's going to ask. Consistent and familiar.

 

“Yes, I've got everything. Yes, I'm sure. Goodbye Helen.” I yell back.

 

“Atta girl.” She blows me a cheeky kiss.

 

She drives off then, leaving me to my own devices. I make my way up to the gates protecting Watford, hating the noise the gravel crunching against my flats makes.

 

When I get to the gates, I see the mage there, chatting earnestly with Penny's brother, Premal. I clear my throat, in hopes of passing through. Both turn to me and the mage gives me a strange smile.

 

“Ah hello! Er-” He falters, trailing off.

 

“Wellbelove. Agatha.” I tell him, trying to not sigh, at least visibly.

 

“Ah, yes! Simon's, um, _friend_.” I nod, dutifully fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “Have a lovely year Agatha.”

 

I smile a forced smile, and move past the pair quickly, already desperate to put this conversation behind me. I don't despise the mage, but even I'll admit; He's a fucking idiot.

 

I suppose Penny doesn't face this kind of problem, (Although, if she did, I'm not sure she would care. It would be too below her.) She and Simon have always been a duo. It's like they're Batman and Robin. Batman may be more powerful, or more famous, but nonetheless no one forgets Robin’s name.

 

As I trudge through the grounds of Watford, I feel the magic spreading through me once again, as it does every time I return to Watford. It's not exactly unpleasant, but I'd rather not feel it all the same. At the very least, it's slightly uncomfortable, and it feels as though syrup is running through my veins, slow and sticky.

 

I asked Simon about it once, but he said he never really feels the change in magic when he returns to Watford. I suppose it's because his body already has so much magic, flowing out from every crease. (Hot, and searing, like too much smoke. Sometimes I taste it when we kiss.) It's almost impossible for it to take more.

 

For me, it's exactly the opposite. I can't stand the greedy way my body sucks up every bit of magic it can. Like I'll suffocate without it.

 

 _Fucking Watford_.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

After I've put all my stuff away, I make my way to the great lawn for the required Crucible casting for first years, and the obligatory picnic that takes place after.

 

I notice Penny waving me over, and I sit next to her on the old flannel blanket she must've brought. “Hi Agatha!” She says brightly, and I smile. I grab the tip of her ponytail, and exam the color. “Lime green,” I remark. “It suits you.”

 

I turn around, noticing Basil sitting behind us with Niall and Dev. I wave. “Wellbelove.” Basil says with a polite nod. Simon would be pissed if he was here, seeing as he and Basil haven't gotten over their ridiculous feud yet. If he was here.

 

I poke Penny's shoulder. “Where's Simon?” I ask. She simply shrugs, and focuses her attention on the Mage, who has just begun the casting. I hear a familiar humming behind me, and I realize Basil is muttering along to Just Like Heaven behind me. I wonder if he fancies anyone. After all, he sung it continuously under his breath near the end of fifth year. Simon found it amusing, calling Basil’s taste in music something along the lines of ‘ridiculous punk wannabe', but I'd liked the song, even though I've never really been one for music. In fact, I've been listening to it all summer.

 

The Crucible casts the last two first years together, two little boys with curly hair, and I hear a loud thud from beside me. Simon sits, panting as though he's run a mile. His hair is a matted mess, and he smells like he hasn't showered in a good three days. I can hear Basil and his friends snickering, and Simon magic starts oozing angrily as a result. He can't stand being made fun of. “Where were you?” Penny asks him from behind me. I nod. He holds a finger up as he tries to catch his breath. “Was on the train…excited...casted ‘ **Time flies when you're having fun!** ’...made the train go extra slow...had to run.” He says between huffs, looking dejected.

 

Penny shakes her head, biting back a grin. I can't help it- I laugh, and Penny joins in almost immediately. Simon looks between the two of us, bewildered, before joining in.

 

Food appears before us then, signalling the start of the picnic. Simon and Penny both start filling their plates. I grab a small tart, Apple I think, and lean back.

 

I think the stars might be one of my favorite things here.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

It's not even a full two months into term when Simon and Penny try to bail on our annual Friday movie night. They both come up with excuses to miss it whenever they can. Last year, Simon missed almost every movie night, trying to prove his theory that Basil is a vampire. Penny missed at least half, chasing after Simon. We'd both felt a bit bad for Basil to be quite honest. No one deserves the Chosen One breathing down their neck at every possible opportunity. Besides, Basil doesn't seem all too bad. Expect for you know...the whole vampire thing.

 

I'm not surprised that Simon and Penny are missing it this time, but I am disappointed. Tonight was gonna be Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

 

“Alright let's hear it.” I say with a sigh, awaiting Simon’s excuse.

 

“Come on Aggie, I'm sorry. But it's the first party of the year tonight. Everyone else is going! We should too.”

 

I wrinkle my nose. A party sounds like the exact opposite of fun, and I certainly wasn't expecting to get roped into doing something tonight.

 

The last time I went to a party was a disaster. I got shoved into the closet with a thoroughly pissed Dev for 7 minutes in heaven. We didn't snog, but he did throw up on my shoes, which was nothing short of charming. Then, the next morning, I was so hungover that Simon cast “ **Hair of the dog!** ” on me. He was only trying to help, but I'd managed to grow an entire coat of fur until the nurse could figure out how to reverse the effects of the spell. I haven't touched a drink since.

 

“So?” Simon asks, giving me his version of a puppy dog stare. 

 

I sigh, knowing I've already lost. “Tonight was gonna be Ferris Bueller, you know.”

 

He just smiles, and nudges my arm lightly. “We've seen that movie millions of times. It's not like it won't be there next Friday. We can always watch it then.”

 

“Only eight times.” I mutter, but it's pointless.

 

“Please Aggie?” He whines.

 

I give him a soft smile, although I want nothing more then to roll my eyes. Annoyed as I am, I know I'm being petty about this, so I choose to give in before I become too unbearable “Alright.” I tell him.

 

“Great!” He says gleefully, leaning over to give my cheek a sloppy kiss.

 

I don't want to hurt Simon’s feelings, so I wait until he turns to talk to Penny to wipe my cheek. Penny sees me when I do. She gives me a questioning look, and I blush, letting my gaze falls to my plate. I poke at my roasted chicken with my fork.

 

“Who's hosting it? Gareth, yeah?” Simon asks Penny.

 

She hums confirmation, and I sigh.

 

I'd really rather watch a movie.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

By the time I get there, the party is in full swing. The speakers are thumping out the opening beat to what I think is _Creep_. At least the music isn't completely hopeless.

 

It's truly a wonder that no adults ever break up these parties. I assume they just don't care enough at this point.

 

“Agatha!” I hear Simon call out. He and Penny walk up to me, red solo cups in their hands. Simon hands me one of his, and I frown slightly. “Punch.” He mouths, and I nod out of relief. I know he still feels horribly bad about the incident so I offer him a small smile and take a sip. He may be a slight dolt at times, reckless and irresponsible, but he never fails to be sweet. It makes me think I could almost fall in love with him.

 

Sometimes the only thing that stops the guilt from consuming me whole is that he isn't in love with me either. He just doesn't know it yet.

 

I really ought to break up with him. It's only fair.

 

The song changes to something I don't recognize, and Penny starts jumping around excitedly. “Let's dance!” She yells, and I can tell she's already had too much to drink. Her frizzy curls bounce around in a wave of green, and I raise my eyebrows at Simon. He shrugs.

 

I start swaying to the music, and I extend my hand to him. He takes it, moving his hips so slightly, it's almost undetectable. He isn't one for dancing, but regardless I appreciate the effort.

 

A few minutes later, Keris bumps into us. “Oopsie!” She giggles, and I can smell the cheap beer on her breath. I wonder who snuck it in, and how- although I suppose the Mage doesn't exactly have any protocols in place. Shocking.

 

“Have you guys seen Trixie?” She asks, and Simon shakes his head.

 

“Keris!” Someone cries from across the room.

 

“Oi, found her! Come play with us guys!” She tells us, and I turn to Simon confused. He simply shrugs again, letting Keris lead us over to a group of people sitting on the floor in a circle. I see the bottle in the middle, and groan. _Oh_. So it's that kind of party.

 

“Merlin’s fucking tits.” I mutter, and Simon looks at me surprised. I sigh. It seems as though no one will ever get used to my swearing.

 

“Do you want to play?” Simon asks, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. It's obvious he wants to play, so I just nod. I don't want to be the wet blanket. It's quite tiring, doing it time after time. 

 

I sit down in between Simon and Dev. “Relax Wellbelove!” He slurs, clapping me on the back. “It's not a bloody orgy!” Simon snorts from beside me, and I flush from embarrassment, even though it's clear they're both pissed.

 

“Alright ya fuckin’ cunts, who's going first?” Niall shouts. His accent is unusually heavy, and I blame it on the flask he's holding.

 

Rhys volunteers, and his spin lands on Basil, much to everyone's amusement. Whoops and cheers erupt from the circle, and Basil just sneers. He seems to be the only one here besides me who isn't drunk off their rocker.

 

“Wait, that doesn't count right? It's a _bloke_.” Gareth says. The room goes oddly quiet considering it's full of wasted horny teenagers, and Trixie and Keris both give him the death glare. He gulps and just mutters “Carry on then.”

 

Basil crawls across the circle, and gives Rhys a quick peck. The room suddenly bursts into cheer, breaking the awkward silence. I notice Simon tense up next to me, but I ignore it. I feel horribly embarrassed, and I'm not sure why.

 

“Alright Dev, your turn!” Penny yells, and I realize we're going around the circle, which means I'm next. Bloody hell. Dev kisses Keris, and Trixie pouts adorably.

 

Then it's my turn, and I'm spinning the bottle before I understand what's happening. It lands on Alistar Cleary, another 6th year. A girl. _Bloody hell_. 

 

Back in our third year, when Penny went through her Harry Potter phase, she described Alistair as a “Loony Lovegood type.” When I read the books myself, I noticed Penny wasn't quite off. She looks as if someone splattered a bunch of paint onto a blank toffee colored canvas. An abstract painting.

 

My heart seems to stop, and I can feel all the blood rush to my face. I slowly lift my eyes to meet hers. She gives me a small smile, one of pity, and tucks her pale pink hair behind her ear. I notice that she's somehow managed to enchant the clips she's wearing in it- the fake butterflies’ wings are actually flapping.

 

“On with it!” Someone yells, and she crawls across the circle. “Sorry about this.” She whispers softly, and presses her lips to mine. It's soft, like she doesn't want to break me.

 

She really does look like a painting.

 

She doesn't taste like alcohol at all, just raspberries. Is this a good kiss? I don't know. It's so much different then my kisses with Simon. _Simon_. I'd forgotten all about him. What does he think about this?

 

It's over as soon as it started, and she gives me one last glance before crawling back to her spot. Her eyes look like stardust, and I feel _dizzy_ , like I'm on the verge of collapsing.

 

Everyone cheers, and then Simon takes his turn. He kisses Natalie, a 7th year. I don't care. Then the boy after him goes. Then the next, and the next, and the next. But I'm still dizzy, and so so confused. All I know is that I have to leave.

 

“Hey,” I whisper to Simon. “I've got to go.”

 

“Wait, no!” He slurs, drunkenly grabbing my arm. His breath smells awful, like he's been simultaneously chugging Pepto Bismol and bleach.

 

“Why?” He's pouting. I sigh.

 

“Too much alcohol.” I lie.

 

He looks down at my cup with a frown. Shit. “That was punch, wasn't it?”

 

He's not even looking at me anymore. His focus is on the game.

 

“Right! Er, it was punch. But someone...spiked it.”

 

He doesn't answer me this time. He's too busy watching Trixie snog Basil.

 

I sigh again, and get up. No one notices. Except for Alistar. Her eyes follow me to the door. Fuck me.

 

I want to cry. Or, better yet, sob for days. It seems like the only appropriate response for the thoughts running through my brain. It's silly really, the way I'm freaking out. So many thoughts, all over a bloody game. Yet, so much is starting to make sense. And I don't want it to.

 

A boy is blocking the entrance to the door, a greasy faced 5th year. I can't remember his name.

 

“Move.” I grit through my teeth. Tears are gathering in my eyelashes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

 

He opens his mouth, and shuts it, deciding the fight isn't worth it. He starts to walk away, and I reach for the door handle. I hesitate, realizing what the boy had in his hand.

 

“Wait!” I call out. He stops, and I march over, grabbing the bottle of vodka out of his hands. It's surprisingly full. I wonder what he's been doing all night then.

 

“I'm taking this.” I tell him. My voice sounds deadly.

 

He squeaks, and I'm already walking away.

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

By the time, I stumble into my room, I've already drank half the bottle. It's complete rubbish, but I don't mind.

 

I'm drunk and alone at twelve a.m. in the midst of a sexuality crisis, so I do the only thing I can do; I flop onto my bad and use my laptop to turn on The Cure.

 

After _Just Like Heaven_ plays for the third time, I groan. I really need to listen to some more fucking music. What kind of person only listens to one song? It's ridiculous.

 

I pull myself off the bed, and chug the rest of the vodka. What does it matter anyways? I've lived like a coward all my life, one of the many things I’m starting to realize. Might as well get ridiculously wasted.

 

I look around for something to do, anything. My eyes skim over my vanity, and I see a pair of pink scissors. Perfect. I shift my gaze to the mirror. The me gazing back looks broken, like an abandoned porcelain doll. Except for the pink puffy eyes of course. I start laughing. I'm not sure why really. I'd much rather spit at the glass, at the pitiful girl it shows me.

 

I take a piece of hair, and before I fully know what I'm doing, I snip. Again, and again, and again. Before I know it, my hair is almost gone. Almost, I remind myself, examining it in the mirror. It barely falls to the edges of my shoulders, and for a unstable old 16 year old who's had far too much vodka, I’d done a killer job too. Considering of course, I'm chopping my hair off in the middle of the night after kissing a girl and wondering why the hell I liked it so much better than kissing Simon, my boyfriend.

 

No. Don’t think, just cut.

 

With one last look in the mirror, I chop an uneven piece off. And somehow I found myself stumbling into my bed; falling asleep within a minute.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

My dreams that night are full of pink hair and stardust, which I assume is a giant "Get fucked!" from my subconscious. Except there's no one else to blame this time, even my thought process. For years, I've let myself play a background character in my own life. Now, I've been shoved onto the center stage. I've landed the lead role, and I have no idea what to do with it. I slowly detangle myself from the pale pink sheets, and get out of bed.

 

I exhale loudly. My skull feels like it's about to explode. I run my hand through my hair, and freeze.

 

_Don't you remember? You cut it all off._

 

I rush to the vanity, and my feet brush against something soft. My hair. “Fucking hell.” I mutter.

 

I've been gazing into the mirror for over a minute when it hits me. I look like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club, but choppy. A punk off brand version of Claire. _Brilliant_.

 

I laugh, and laugh, until my stomach does an unhappy flip. I rush to the bathroom, and vomit.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Since it's a Sunday, thank fuck, I'm able to get away with staying in my room, at least until dinner. By then I'm showered, and my migraine has reduced to a dull throbbing ache. I even have a bit of an appetite.

 

Unfortunately, going to the dining room means seeing Simon. Everything about him feels wrong, especially after last night. I'm not sure how to act, or even think really.

 

I have to break up with him, I realize that now. I'm just not sure how, or when even. Is there ever really a right time to break up with the goddamned saviour of life as we know it? Or has the universe chosen to spit in my face, yet again?

 

Agatha Wellbelove, laughing stock of the cosmos. A suitable title.

 

I decide to just get it over with. I'll go, grab a bite, and break up with him on my way out. Easy, painless. For the both of us. Right?

 

I throw on my overly large jean jacket, and check my hair again. It hasn't gotten any less choppy, but something about it feels different. I think it looks better this way. I finally feel like a fucking real person.

 

I make my way to the dining hall, walking as slow as I can physically manage. I'd rather not hurry towards the shitfest I'm about to conjure.

 

“Agatha!” Someone squeaks, just as I’m about to open the ridiculously overdone oak double doors. I flush immediately. I know it's her before I turn, but I do it anyways.

 

Alistar stands by the entrance, fiddling with her wand in a strikingly endearing way.

 

“Er- hey.” I manage to croak out, after an undoubtedly awkward period of silence. “What's up?”

 

“I like your hair.” She smiles. My knees feel weak, and I pick at my nails, unable to meet her eyes. The lime green coat is chipped. Oh well. It was quite a silly color anyways.

 

I smile softly, and I can hardly manage the small murmur of thanks I do. She waves, and walks away, while I quickly scramble to my table, barely breathing. _Crowley_.

 

I plop into my seat ungracefully, and grab a thick slice of bread from the center of the table. Simon and Penny are staring at me as if I grew a conjoined twin overnight, but I don't address it. I give them both a small nod of acknowledgement, and idly munch my food.

 

Penny glances between me and Simon, in a way she must perceive as subtle. It's not. She gives me a hard glance, and grabs her plate, standing up. She feeds Simon some excuse about some particularly hard alchemy homework, and I know I should be grateful, but I still roll my eyes. Of course Penelope Bunce is taking Alchemy. I didn't even know Watford offered it.

 

After she's gone, Simon nudges my shoulder. “Alright?” He asks, taking a giant bite of his rice pudding. He gets a smear of the stuff on his cheek, and I wipe it off with my sleeve. He crinkles his nose, and turns to me. I sigh.

 

"I could ask you the same." I tell him thoughtfully. He seems nervous, on edge, but he just shrugs. 

 

“Something's wrong.” I begin. He seems slightly confused, and opens his mouth in protest, but I cut him off.

 

“With us, I mean. It's not your fault, it's no one's really. But I think we need to break up.”

 

His eyebrows furrow, and he looks betrayed. I anxiously pick at my nails again, refusing to meet his sorrow-filled eyes.

 

“W-why?” He asks, tripping over his own words. He doesn't do this often, at least not anymore, and flames of searing hot guilt rise in my stomach, on my face.

 

“We've grown apart. At least romantically. It's just not what it should be.”

 

I grab both of his hands. “What do you feel right now, when I touch your hands?”

 

He thinks for a moment, and looks to the floor.

 

“Good? Warm. You have very warm hands.” He says softly, slowly. His magic is rising steadily, making me uncomfortable. I can practically taste the green wood scent that he's radiating. He notices, and yanks his hands away.

 

“Simon, I like you. A lot. You're one of the most extraordinary people I've ever met. But Christ- we're teenagers! We're 16! We've only been dating for a year. Whenever we touch, there should be sparks! Have you ever felt the sparks?”

 

He shakes his head shamefully.

 

“Neither have I.” I say sadly. I feel oddly choked up suddenly.

 

We're both silent for a moment, looking at our hands instead of each other.

 

“But- but Agatha, I love you.”

 

"No, you don't.” I lean over and kiss his cheek lightly. “But that's alright.”

 

His magic seems to spike around us, and I can tell he's close to going off. My presence surely isn't helping.

 

“Goodbye Simon. Don't be a stranger.”

 

And with that, I'm walking away, refusing to let my welling tears spill.

 

As it turns out, this couldn't possibly have been as painless as I had hoped it would be. Even if I had good intentions (Did I?) I still tooks Simon's raw, human emotions, and crushed them. Does being hurt for a little while weigh out being lied to for- Crowley, who knows how long? Didn't he deserve that much?

 

He's been lied to too much, even if others insist it's for his own good. He does deserve better than someone who's not even sure if they can love him. I just wish he understood that.

 

I swipe at my cheek, wiping away a tear that hasn't fallen yet.

 

Someday, there'll be someone who can give him their entire world. They'll love him, so much that they'll gladly be his trophy- the person he'll win after saving the world.

 

That person will not be me.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

I decide to sit by myself for a bit, under a tree at the very edge of the wavering wood. I don't dare go in any further; who knows what kind of awful things lay in wait? In third year, it was demons. Loads of them, protecting a fucking gate to hell that the Mage managed to conjure. Actually- he conjured _three_ , but only the third one was on campus, the one Simon needed to destroy. Regardless, I had nightmares for months.

 

I'd been laying on the grass, watching the sunset, but it's getting late. The light pinks of the sky have faded into soft purples. The bridge to Watford will surely draw up soon, and I don't want to be stuck here here when it does. I sit up, and notice Baz walking towards me.

 

“Wellbelove!” He calls. “Care to accompany me back?”

 

I nod, and walk up to him warily. He extends his arm, and I take it, linking my arm through his. The leather jacket he wears obsessively clashes with the light denim of my jacket.

 

“First of all,” I say as we walk. “If this is some ploy to piss of Simon, I'm extremely uninterested.”

 

He smirks. “I assure you, it's not. Besides, you already left him smoking earlier, didn't you?”

 

I unlink my arm from his, and shove him. It feels playful almost.

 

I hope he doesn't think of it as flirting. I don't think I could handle that.

 

“Get fucked.” I tell him as he stumbles comically.

 

“Charming choice of words.” He says, smoothing his shirt.

 

“I try.” I say, giving him a dramatic curtsey. He chuckles, and relinks our arms again.

 

“Anyways Wellbelove, I just wanted to tell you that I like your hair. It's smashingly punk.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“Of course. All you need now is a Buzzcocks record, and a burning desire for anarchy.”

 

“Then teach me.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Teach me how to be punk then Basil.”

 

He raises his eyebrow, contemplating. I don't know what I'm doing really. But I'm doing something, and that feels right. Besides, everyone at Watford knows Basil has the best taste in music. It's simply a fact- just like the endless rotating of the planet.

 

Finally, he sighs haughtily, and I smirk.

“Well then, I suppose I will. First thing's first; _please_ tell me you never had a My Chemical Romance phase.”


	2. TEENAGE DREAM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the next person to say baz and agatha are in love will be beheaded, no exceptions

It’s less then one day into our “crash course,” as Basil calls it, that he deems me hopeless.

 

To be fair, I wasn't expecting this at all; him somehow barging into my room after today’s lessons. And now he's scolding me. In my room. Upon asking how, he waved me off and said “Don't worry about it.” Just like fucking Penny would've done. Crowley.

 

He hasn't even talked to me since the day he walked me back, which was almost a week ago. I had just assumed he'd decided not to help me after all, or maybe he had just forgotten completely. It's not like I would blame him. Agatha Wellbelove isn't exactly the most memorable girl you'll ever meet. Although I must admit; him interrupting me while I'm watching Pretty In Pink certainly didn't make the top ten list of “Things Basilton Grimm-Pitch Could Be Doing Right Now.” Especially now, during the very climax of the movie; the dress.

 

I haven't talked to Penny since the breakup. Or Simon. Needless to say, I've been taking my meals in my room. I feel too ashamed to face them, especially now that I'm taking these...lessons- or something, from Basil. I'm sure to them that means conversing with the enemy. And I'd rather skip the inevitable lecture.

 

But I do miss them. A lot actually. Losing them feels like being in a room that's suddenly gone completely quiet. You didn't even realize you were eavesdropping, but now that all the conversations have ceased, it's all you can think about. All you can do is look around in bewilderment, wondering “what happened?”

 

Of course, thinking about this adds to my overall displeasure. I know I must be overreacting, but I'd like nothing more then to clock Basil in his stupid smug face. Here he is, taking away control, like I won't notice. Like I won't want it.

 

“What do you mean you don't have a taste in music?” He says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Everyone has a fucking music taste.” I tuck my hair behind my hair, which I can barely do now after my vodka induced scissors tirade, and shrug. “I've just never listened to much. It didn't seem, Christ- important I guess?”

 

“You swear like a normal.” He snaps. He sighs, muttering obscenities. “You probably listen to fucking Weezer.” I hear him whisper. I twiddle my thumbs nervously.

 

“Do you even have any favorite bands? Songs?”

 

“My nanny listened to _The Ramones_ a lot.”

 

“Your nanny isn't you. This isn't about her. What do you like?”

 

“Maybe _The Cure_?”

 

“ _The Cure_! Brilliant. How many songs do you know?”

 

I wince, bracing myself for impact. “One?”

 

He shakes his head furiously, and throws me an ipod from his pocket. It's old, an ipod classic, and it has a small crack in the upper right hand corner. I trace my finger along the broken glass.

 

“Headphones?” He asks quietly, failing to conceal his anger. I nod.

 

He really is a fucking bloody drama queen. “Every song Wellbelove. Listen to every song, and then come talk to me. Write down your favorites. What you'd like to hear more of. You'll earn record privileges later.”

 

“Wait, _no_. That'll take-”

 

“Every song Wellbelove!” He calls out as he closes my door. I hear his steps as he stomps away. I sigh, and grab my earbuds from my nightstand, plugging them into the ipod.

 

On. Songs. Shuffle. Don't throw it against the wall.

 

I lie back on the bed, and check the screen. It's playing _Hanging On The Telephone_. The opening guitar riffs flood my ears, and I begin to cry, trying to blame it on the anger at my loneliness, and not the one thing that always seems to be on my mind nowadays.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

It takes a week, one horrible, awful, endless week, but I finally get through the mounds of songs. I get dressed quickly. Basil and I have first period together today, (Pop-Culture Study, a required class. They say it's to improve the sincerity in our spells, but it mostly entails watching movies.) and I want to try and catch him before class.

 

To say I'm desperate for human interaction would be an understatement. The sad reality of dumping Simon Snow was that I’d always been too busy being his girlfriend to make friends. Now here I am, boyfriendless, friendless, with one hell of an ipod.

 

I put the ipod on shuffle, and spell my earbuds invisible with “ **You can't see me**!” _Moonage_ _Daydream_ plays, and I mentally pat myself on the back. I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner; it's bloody genius.

 

I grab my notebook full of lyrics, song names, bands, and scratchy writing, and shove it in my bag. I practically dash out of my room, and run to class. “S-sorry!” I yell out as I shove past Trixie and Keris, interrupting their snogging. I blush.

 

“Basil!” I call out as I practically tackle him. He stumbles back into the classroom door, and looks bewildered. “Fucking Crowley.” He mutters, but I can see the traces of a smile, and I wonder if he missed me too. I like to think that we're friends. Or at least, we could be. I grab my notebook, and shove it into his hands. He flips through it and nods, looking bored but somehow still impressed.

 

Simon walks by us then, and I can feel his eyes on my back like they're fire. Basil notices, and snorts. I shove him, but I'm smiling too. I really think we could be great friends. It all seems so easy.

 

Watford’s ridiculously loud bell rings, and he hands me back the notebook. “We'll talk at lunch.” He mouths, and walks into class. The ipod rolls over to _Everybody’s Happy Nowadays_ , and I make a mental note to add the _Buzzcocks_ to the notebook. I smile.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Gentlemen.” Basil nods to Dev and Neil as we approach the table. Both boys look at me loftily, and my skin crawls with goosebumps. I should've expected this actually. I'm not quite sure why I didn't. Why wouldn't Basil sit with his actual friends?

 

Dev raises his eyebrows, and points his fork at me, looking at Basil. Basil waves him off. “I'm teaching her about real music, you fucking cockstain, unlike the shit you bastards listen to.”

 

"Listening to David Bowie doesnt make you better then everyone else cous." Dev rolls his eyes.

 

"Doesn't it though?" Baz asks with a mock curiousity.

 

Neil looks up at me then, his eyes full of pity. “You poor thing.” He says evenly. “Being forced to listen to that garbage.” He gives me a cheeky grin then, showing off his assortment of freckles, and his hair is so red I find myself wondering if it can be seen from space. I smile back. Dev snorts, and I let out a sigh of relief. At least they don't hate me.

 

Basil sneers. “Get fucked.” He snaps, sitting down. Neil chuckles, and holds his hands up in surrender. I sit down next to Basil, and pull out the notebook from my school bag. I slide it over to him, and grab a ham and cheese sandwich from the center of the table, nibbling the crusts off.

 

He skims over it at an exceptionally slow pace, and I can hardly take it. It was only a matter of time really. I burst. “So?” I ask him, a little too anxious. He smirks. “So,” he says thoughtfully. “I think this warrants record privileges.”

 

I smile, leaning back in a way I desperately hope comes across as casual. “On one condition.” I tell him cockily.

 

He raises his eyebrows, looking amused. “Oh?”

 

“Mhm. You have to watch a movie with me tomorrow night.”

 

He sighs, as though I've just told him he has hold up the bloody sky. “I am not doing that.”

 

“Yes you are, Mr. Fucking Prim and Proper. C'mon, it's a tradition. And it's not like I really have anyone to share it with.” I say, nodding towards Simon and Penny’s table. I haven't directly looked over at them, not since I walked in. I'm too scared of what I'll find; hurt, anger, betrayal?

 

He sighs again, and I roll my eyes. “Fine, but only if you swear I'm not some replacement for your golden boyfriend.”

 

“Why, I wouldn't dream of it Basil.”

 

“Baz.”

 

“Right.” I say, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.

 

We're friends.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

I decided it was only right that we watch The Breakfast Club first, considering Baz has never seen a John Hughes movie. I laughed when he told me, laughed at the irony of it all. Who would've predicted that he and I would be platonic soulmates?

 

After I've set up everything, I sit in my desk chair, next to the box, and absentmindedly hum _Y Control_. I run my hands over the record sleeves lightly, scared I'll damage them. Baz brought me the box this morning, insisting I borrow them. “Things sound better on vinyl anyways.” He told me offhandedly. As if this privilege wasn't everything and more. I haven't been able to listen to them yet, but he says his aunt Fiona will bring his old record player up tomorrow.

 

I flip through them again, loving the smell of dust and polish. I wonder if that makes me a freak.

 

It seems like he has everything here, especially considering this is only part of his collection. The Smiths, Joy Division, Bowie, Queen, Blondie, The Undertones, a Bikini Kill record, even Nirvana. He seems to have a lot of The Cure, which makes me smile.

 

He comes in then, startling me. He flashes a smile when he sees me with the records, one I've never seen him wear, and I can't help but smile back. I wonder if, maybe if I tried really hard, I could like Baz as more than a friend. It would certainly solve all my problems, possibly even prove that what happened with Alistar was some sort of fluke.

 

I've taken to calling my situation that. The Alistar Fluke. Spawned by an awful combination of alcohol, hormones, and some sort of frustration with Simon.

 

See, the problem with that theory is that I wasn't drunk. But I've managed to ignore that detail for the most part.

 

She met my eyes in our shared Charms class today, and I looked away quickly, praying to fucking merlin I didn't flush pink. Later that class, I overheard Rhys and Gareth making fun of her hair. She had spelled it into a beehive, and secured it with large honey bee hair clips. They thought it looked stupid, I thought it looked wonderful.

 

I shake my head, and look up at Baz. I plaster a smirk on my face. “Well then Mr. Fucking Prim and Proper, are you ready to have your mind blown?” I ask, gesturing to the laptop on my bed.

 

He nods nervously, and I can't help but snort as I hit play.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

As it turns out, we don't end up watching the movie much. We talk, and talk. It's surprising really, because the more we talk the more he becomes a real person. No leather jacket and scowl- just messy hair and a smile that reaches his eyes, making the corners crinkle. I ask him about his family, and he talks about his younger sister- Mordelia- with his eyes bright. He asks me the same, and I rave about Helen. When we talk about the future, I tell him I don't care for magic. He tells me he loves it more than anything, that it reminds him of his mother.

 

It makes me feel special, like he's somehow entrusted me with a secret.

 

It's well over halfway through the movie when my eyes start to droop shut. I can see the snow through my window, and I grab the blanket from behind us. I wrap myself in it partially, and offer the rest to Baz. He takes it, giving me an unsettling look of fear. I raise my eyebrows at him, but his focus is back on the movie.

 

I look at the snow again. It's close to Christmas, and even closer to break. Not to mention the winter ball Watford holds annually. I'm not sure if I can face my family like this. Broken and unsure with a mess of a haircut. I don't think I'll be able to handle their questions about Simon and I. I'm exhausted now, and I can't stop my head from falling on Baz’s shoulder.

 

“Wellbelove.” He snaps. I sit up, confused. He sighs. “I'm sorry. It's just- well-” He pauses, refusing to meet my eyes. “I'm gay.” He says simply. I blink.

 

 _Gay_.

 

My first instinct should be reassurance, comfort, a “That's okay!”, or a “I support you!” but it's not.

 

_Did he think I was...into him?_

 

I nod quickly, in an all too suspicious manner. Suspicious.

 

_He's gonna know, he's gonna know, he's-_

 

“Wellbelove?” He asks, concerned. “It's quite alright. I know it's a lot, I just didn't want to do anything to lead you on.”

 

“What?” I ask. “No, _no_. It's fine. _You're_ fine. I have to- I'm gonna go on a walk. Finish the movie.”

 

He nods, his face devoid of any emotion. But there's something else. Something in the way his shoulders slump slightly. Hurt. _Fuck me_.

 

I leave quickly, shoving my feet in a pair of overly pink coloured slippers. It's freezing, but I don't stop to grab my coat. “I'm sorry.” I try to tell him, but it's too late, and the words die on my tongue. I close the door.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

By the time I get back, he's gone, unsurprisingly of course. The lights are out,the bed is made, and even my fucking laptop has been neatly set to the side. The sight of it hurts my head. I cannot believe I made him think that I was not only attracted to him, but homophobic too. And all over the course of one movie.

 

He deserves better.

 

I blink back what seems to be the beginning of tears, and sigh. I've been crying all too much lately. Apparently one night of unlimited tears, cheap vodka, and scissors doesn't cure a mental breakdown.

 

Who fucking knew?

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

I make my way to the library cautiously, in fear of bumping into- well, anyone really. To say I'm not in the mood to talk would be the understatement of the century. I don't see much of anyone on the weekends now that I take meals in my room, so avoiding Baz hasn't exactly been difficult. But for all I know, he could be here. After all, he is a bit of a geek.

 

I lie, telling the librarian I need to study, but I find myself wondering over to the back table's with a book, picked off the garish “Females in poetry!” section at random. In all honesty, I hardly ever study. I don't need to, a bonus of taking the easiest classes offered at Watford. Helen tells me I could do better, but I don't care. I don't need an A in Magical Combat to become a veterinarian.

 

I flip through the book, stopping at a relatively small poem.

 

“ _If you forget me, think of our gifts to Aphrodite and all the loveliness that we shared_

_“all the violet tiaras, braided rosebuds, dill and crocus twined around your young neck_

_“myrrh poured on your head and on soft mats girls with all that they most wished for beside them_

_“while no voices chanted choruses without ours, no woodlot bloomed in spring without song_.”

 

I blink, and glance at the cover. Sappho. My face goes bright red.

 

_Did I pick this at random?_

 

My face is still impossibly flushed from the guilt of it all, but I keep reading.

 

Crowley, I probably look insane, hunched over a book like it's the world's most valuable secret. For fucks sake, you'd think I murdered a virgin and littered by the looks of things.

 

_Immortal Aphrodite, on your intricately brocaded throne, child of Zeus, weaver of wiles, this I pray:_

_Dear Lady, don’t crush my heart with pains and sorrows. But come here, if ever before, when you heard my far-off cry, you listened. And you came, leaving your father’s house,yoking your chariot of gold._

_Then beautiful swift sparrows led you over the black earth from the sky through the middle air, whirling their wings into a blur._

_Rapidly they came. And you, O Blessed Goddess, a smile on your immortal face, asked what had happened this time, why did I call again, and what did I especially desire for myself in my frenzied heart:_

_“Who this time am I to persuade to your love? Sappho, who is doing you wrong? For even if she flees, soon she shall pursue. And if she refuses gifts, soon she shall give them. If she doesn’t love you, soon she shall love even if she’s unwilling.”_

_Come to me now once again and release me from grueling anxiety. All that my heart longs for, fulfill. And be yourself my ally in love’s battl-_

 

The library doors open with a bang, and I jump, slamming the book shut.

 

“Well you didn't have to walk here with me!” Someone, a girl, screeches.

 

“Shush! This is a _library_ Trixie!” The other person whispers furiously, a whisper I recognise. Penny. _Fucker_.

 

“You're the one who started this fight!”

 

“And you're the one who stole my homework again. It's a damned double edge sword, isn't it?”

 

I turn around, hoping desperately they won't notice me.

 

“Whatever. Have fun with your studying.“ Trixie whispers, sticking her tongue out. Penny marches off then, her face red from anger, and Trixie turns my direction. She notices my presence, and waves with a sunny smile. I smile back, and try cover the book in an awful attempt at discretion.

 

She walks over then, and my heart's beating furiously. “What’cha reading?” She asks, with a curiosity that's nothing short of mocking.

 

“Oh, it's- it's nothing really.” I stammer.

 

“Sappho, huh?” She remarks, looking at the book’s spine. My face’s own personal flame is back. “Mandatory reading.” She says with a wink, ruffling the wavy cornstarch hair she wears short. My face flushes deeper.

 

I rub my arm awkwardly, not meeting her eyes. She pokes my arm. “Hey,” She whispers softly, like she's afraid I'll break. I hate it. “Hey.” She repeats, and when I look up her eyes are full of a pity, but it's not condescending. It's understanding.

 

“You can always talk to me, you know that right? Or Keris. Even Alistar.” My eyes widen, and I nod.

 

_What does that mean?_

 

She offers me a smile. “Hang tough Ags.”

 

“You too Trixie.”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

It takes me too long to realize that Penny could approach me at any moment. I've just been sitting here, ever since Trixie walked away. An easy target.

 

I make my way to the librarian’s desk quietly, intending to check out the Sappho book as quick as possible. But of course, as fate has it, I don't.

 

“Agatha!” Penny whisper-yells from behind me as I get up from the table. Crowley. She approaches me then, with a stack of books almost half her size teetering in her arms. I sigh. “Can we talk?” She asks, tucking a loose strand of green behind her ear. I nod timidly.

 

But I know this won't be a mutual discussion. If anything, she's here to lecture me.

 

“I just- I have a lot of questions. Why won't you talk to us anymore?”

 

“I-”

 

“And why did you cut your hair? Did something happen? It looks like a tornado hit it,” She pauses. “No offense.”

 

I run a hand through my hair self consciously. Does it really look that bad?

 

“And for Merlin's sake Agatha, can you please explain why you're hanging out with Baz? He's-”

 

“We're friends.” I interrupt. “Or, at least, were friends.” I add sadly. I'm not so sure about that now. Running out on him after his coming out doesn't quite scream “best friends forever!”

 

She simply stands for a moment, scrutinizing me. I feel lanky, awkward. “Is this some weird way of getting back at Simon?” She asks finally, and I blink, confused. “Because I'll have you know it's working. He hasn't stopped singing  _Is She Really Going Out With Him?_ since he saw you two sitting together at lunch.”

 

I scowl. “I'm allowed to have friends Penny. That's so unfair.”

 

“And your new friend just happened to be him?”

 

“I don't belong to Simon! I don't live to fucking please him.” I spit out.

 

“It's not that simple!” She cries, on the verge of shrieking. “He was your friend and you abandoned him.” A pause. “I was your friend and you abandoned me.”

 

“Shush!” The librarian yells from somewhere in library.

 

Oh. _Oh_. “Penny I-”

 

“Wellbelove!” Baz says, materializing behind Penny from seemingly nowhere. _Bloody hell_ , how do they do that? “Bunce.” He says with a nod of acknowledgement. “Wellbelove, I need your help with something.”

 

“O-oh.” I stammer. “Penny I have to-”

 

“No! Not so fast you two!” She says bitterly. Her face is bright red, and I can't tell if she's about to scream or cry. “Are you really ditching me again for him? Or-” Her eyes drop to the book in my hands, widening as they read the title. _Motherfucker_.

 

“It's not him is it? No it's her-” She pauses. “Alistar yeah?” “Penny.” I warn, but my voice doesn't sound very threatening. I look around quickly to make sure no one heard.

 

Baz seems to put the pieces all together then, his stormy grey eyes snapping back and from from me, Penny, and the book. “Wellbelove-” He interjects, most likely trying to defuse the current situation, but Penny puts her hand up.

 

“It is her!” She says excitedly, as if she's just made a new discovery. It makes me sick to my stomach. “You've been acting weird ever since the party! And your hair! Merlin, that's it! You're- you're a lesbian now, yeah?”

 

 _Lesbian_.

 

 _Lesbian_.

 

I think I'm crying now, I'm not quite sure. I wipe my sleeve on my cheek, and it comes back wet. Definitely crying. I mostly want to laugh, because if my life were a sitcom this would be the part where the record scratches. There'd be an over the top freeze frame, and you'd hear my voice, saying “Yep, that's me. You're probably wondering how I got myself into this situation.”

 

Penny's eyes widen with her recognition and her hands fly up to her mouth, as if she's trying to trap the words that already escaped. I wish she could.

 

“No. No. Agatha I- I didn't mean to-”

 

 _Lesbian_.

 

“Enough Bunce.” Baz booms, his voice loud and firm.

 

“Shush!” The librarian yells again, and he rolls his eyes.

 

I've been reduced to a hopeless, blubbering mess, and his arm encloses my shoulders before leading me out of the library.

 

He's humming _The Only Ones_ under his breath lightly, and I find myself mouthing along as my tears continue their relentless stream.

 

_I think I'm on another world with you, with you_

_I'm on another planet with you, with you_

_Another girl, another planet_

 

He notices this, and smiles. “Well then,” He says matter of factly. “It seems I've taught you well without doing anything.” I wipe at my nose, and he exhales loudly. After staying quiet for a moment, he smiles again. “I've got to hand it to you Wellbelove,” He snorts. “Even my coming out didn't go that bad.”

 

I hum a response, and he stops, arm still around my shoulder. “I'm sorry.” he tells me. I blink. He notices my confusion, and sighs. “I'm sorry for assuming you fancied me. I cannot fucking believe I'm as heteronormative as the rest of these bloody dickheads.”

 

I swipe at my eyes, collecting what seems to be the last of my tears, and giggle. Because it's so ridiculous. Because Penny figured out my secret in a matter of seconds. Because Baz stopped her. Because he's here, and he managed to say “dickhead” so solemnly that I wouldn't doubt he's on his way to a funeral.

 

“I'm sorry I ran away. I was scared I think- not of you- the word.”

 

“Gay?”

 

I wince slightly, but I manage a nod.

 

“Hey.” He says softly, and I look up at him. He runs his hand through his overly slicked back hair, and a few strands fall lose. “You don't have to label things. If you're attracted to someone that's that, yeah? Don't feel as though you have to adopt these titles unless you want them.”

 

"But what if I am a...a lesbian Baz? What then?"

 

"Well then," He replies with a smirk. "We'll just have to form our own little club of misfits, won't we?"

 

I throw my arms around his neck, catching him off guard, and he stumbles back a bit. He's rigid, stiff, and I’m worried he'll shove me off. But he doesn't. He relaxes, putting his hands around my waist.

 

“Come on Wellbelove.” He says before letting go and leading me to my room. “Off to bed with you.”

 

“What did you need my help with anyways?”

 

He grins wickedly. “Nothing really, just thought you needed an out.”

 

He opens the door, and I flop onto my bed. I hear him shuffling around, and soon enough he's placing the ipod’s earbuds in my ear. I worry that I'll be strangled in my sleep by the cords, but Hey Jude starts to play, and I'm out like a light. But not before I hear Baz close the door, saying “Goodnight Agatha.”

 

He might be the best friend I've ever had.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

My point is further proved when I wake up to the sight of his record player sitting on my desk. I jump out of bed, eager to listen to something, anything. I flip through my borrowed vinyls, and find _Three Imaginary Boys_. I drop the needle carefully, and _It's Not You_ fills the room.

 

I feel undeniably happy. Almost like I've discovered a cure to Alzheimer's, or traveled the world. Like I've fallen in love with someone. A girl.

 

Tomorrow will undoubtedly be a mess. After all, my fate lies in the hands of Penelope Bunce, who loves nothing more than sharing her discoveries.

 

But for now it's okay, because it's the weekend, and I'm here, listening to _The Cure_ and dancing around my room like I belong in a straitjacket.

 

My eyes land on something unfamiliar on my bed, a bright pink clashing against my green Watford issued blanket. It's a jacket. I pick it up and a small note falls out. I unfold it.

 

_Every good punk has a leather jacket._

_\- Basilton "Fucking Prim and Proper" Grimm-Pitch_

 

I smile so wide it hurts my cheeks, and study the jacket. It's unmistakably his. Sure it's been dyed and shrunk, presumably with magic, but it has his signature Ziggy Stardust patch on the back. _Jumping Someone Else's Train_ comes on, and I shrug on the jacket, feeling happier than I have in ages.

 

_If you pick up on it quick_

_You can say you were there_

_Again and again and again_

_You're jumping someone else's train_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONGS MENTIONED: 
> 
> teenage dream - t. rex
> 
> hanging on the telephone - blondie
> 
> moonage daydream - david bowie
> 
> everybody's happy nowadays - buzzcocks
> 
> y control - yeah yeah yeahs 
> 
> is she really going out with him - joe jackson
> 
> another girl, another planet - the only ones
> 
> hey jude - the beatles
> 
> it's not you - the cure
> 
> jumping someone else's train - the cure

**Author's Note:**

> ( hehe let's go lesbians )
> 
> SONGS MENTIONED:
> 
> pretty in pink - the psychedelic furs
> 
> she's a sensation - the ramones
> 
> just like heaven - the cure
> 
> creep - radiohead


End file.
